


Escape the Sanctuary

by kelly42fox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Cults, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Religious Fanaticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly42fox/pseuds/kelly42fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not the 'Chosen One'. He must escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape the Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a dream I had. Yes, I have weird dreams.

Dean had never known fear when he was growing up, not really. He realized that fact as sheer panic coursed through his veins, pushing him onward, blinding him to nothing but getting away. His breaths came in gasps, and he heard nothing over the pounding of his own heart. The lack of air and the searing pain in the gashes across his arm began to take their toll, and darkness was tunneling his vision. The cold, sharp terror of being caught, of being taken back to that righteous prison, pushed him. He ran on and on.

He had to get past the compound gates. A place to hide would be found in the nearest town, where ever it was. 

The dark of a new moon aided and hindered his escape. He knew it was much harder for him to be seen, dark ceremonial robes fluttering around him as he fumbled through the dark. He kept tripping and skidding across the cold, damp ground, and he knew that he made far too much noise in his panic.

The Bishop had sent his brainwashed army after him. He shuddered at the thought of being found by the ‘angels’. He’d be dragged away and locked up, a monumental bird in a cage, like they’d done the first time.

Being the chosen one meant he was ripped away from his family and kept as a perverted centerfold for a population of twisted believers. He had been stripped of his dignity and was dangled in front of a congregation, like a carrot in front of a horse. He was pawed and drained of blood, shared like communion wine. He was the beautiful messiah, who had come to save them all, but it was a sham. He was a poor schmuck with a pretty face, who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and caught the Bishop’s fancy. He was the figurehead of a sack of lies.

It was that knowledge that kept Dean up at night, as he’d paced back and forth in his locked room. Not only was he a captive, he was the instrument of such evil, the undoing of so many. At first, he’d screamed and fought, but then he’d been abused and drugged until he nearly broke.

After a time, he formed a plan. He began to behave, as if his resolve had broken, and they slowly stopped the drugs. Their complacency was the key to his escape.

He had been dressed to fit his role, warm soft robes, and lead before the congregation. They worshiped him and bled him. It was worse being cognizant, to see the bliss on their faces, and be the center of that lie. It cut deeper than the knife to his arm. When the Bishop called the congregation forward to receive the blessing of the chosen one, Dean ran.

The last things he heard before the solid doors slammed closed behind him were the horrified cries of the congregation and the Bishop screech for the angels to ‘bring back the chosen one’.

The only sound Dean heard since was the crunch of his feet through the crops and the beat of his own heart.  
In the months, uncertain exactly how long, Dean had been in the compound, he’d only been allowed out of the sanctuary hall once. He visited the believers in the workshops and fields to encourage productivity. He hardly remembered the visit because of how high they had him flying, but he does remember the drone of the Bishop’s voice as he talked and the height of the sturdy rock outer wall. 

He ran for that wall. On the other side was rest. On the other side was freedom. 

Dean tripped again, landing on his knees and outstretched hands. The sudden stop jarred him enough that the world sharpened back into focus, and with it came the stabbing pain. His arm throbbed, and he could feel the sticky drip of his own blood. The robe had stuck to the open wound and had stanched some of the flow. He could feel the sting of scraped skin on his hands and knees. His lungs and ribs ached from his heaving breath. It slowed him, and he had to drag himself back to his feet.

In his old life, Dean had been a lot of things, some good, some bad, but he’d always been strong and never gave up. He tried to remember his old self, the one he wasn’t sure he could ever quite be again. The Dean who wasn’t a victim. Digging deep, he pushed the ache of his wounds and most of his panic aside and found his feet again. 

As he steadied himself, he assessed his surroundings. It was too dark to see much, but he heard shouts and flashes of lights behind him. The angels had formed a search pattern and spread out through the fields. Dean didn’t have time to linger. He pushed forward. 

With less terror pumping through his veins, he was able to maneuver through the fields more quickly, and it was only a minute before the rock wall loomed in front of him. He paused at its base, staring up at the height. 10 feet, he guessed, and swore under his breath.

He ran a hand over the wall’s uneven surface, hoping for a handhold. There wasn’t enough to grip, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to scale it easily in condition. His only option was to follow it around until he found a way over.

Dean had only followed the wall for 20 feet when rustling in the field behind him made him freeze. A light flicked on, and the beam settled on him instantly. He whirled around to face the source, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes. It was the wrong decision because he was momentarily blinded.

Despite the bright blue echo of the light beam that blocked out his vision, Dean darted back toward the fields. Some of the plants were tall enough to shield him, and if he made it to them, he stood a chance of losing the person tailing him.

Dean didn’t get far before he was tackled from behind. He landed face first in the dirt, with strong arms and legs pinning him down. It was the weight of a large man on his back.  
“Chosen one,” a deep, almost mechanical voice came from the man pinning him. “You must return to the sanctuary.”

Dean fought frantically and was able to get his arm free. A lucky flying elbow hit the man pinning him in the jaw. It was enough of a blow that Dean was able to dislodge the man with a single buck, and he scrambled out of reach.

“I’m not the chosen one, and I’m not going back. It’s all a lie,” Dean growled as he pushed himself up onto wobbly legs.

Dean only got five steps before he was tackled again. The angel spun him over, sitting on his stomach, hand clamped down on his wrists. “Chosen one. This is blasphemy.” There was a hint of confusion in the angel’s mechanical voice.

“It ain’t blasphemy if it’s all a load of horse shit, man…” Dean grunted in between struggling.

“Horse…?” the angel’s voice trailed off. The blue blur from the light was wearing off, and Dean began to regain his night vision. The sharp features of the man pinning him began to form in the shadowy dark of his vision. The confusion wasn’t only in his voice but in the cock of his head and the squint of his eyes. “Chosen one, you speak nonsense.”

“No, Angel. The Bishop speaks nonsense. I’m no chosen one. I’m no different than any of the other poor, brainwash sons a bitches in your congregation, ‘cept I was kidnapped and kept as a prisoner,” Dean spat out as he continued to struggle. “Will you just fucking let me go so I can go home?!”

“The Bishop wants to you returned to the sanctuary,” the angel said haltingly. He sounded like he was thinking hard but the cogs in his brain were slipping.

“Look, Angel… You got a name? Mine is Dean. Dean Winchester. Not ‘Chosen One’ or ‘Messiah’. Dean. What’s your name?” Dean didn’t give up on struggling, but it was clear that he wasn’t getting out of the angel’s grip. He figured that because the angel didn’t instantly call the others over the situation still had a shot at going his way.

“Name?” the angel asked, and Dean could feel the angel’s confusion turning into uneasiness. “Angels don’t…” his voice trailed out.

“Yup. They sure as hell drug you guys, too. No way you’d forget your own name. You have a name, dude. What is it? What did your Mom and Dad call you?” Dean pushed. He knew he was getting somewhere.

“I… I’m not supposed to use it. Angels don’t need names. They’re meant to obey commands and serve the order.”  
“That’s a load of shit. I know you go outside the walls. What do you tell the people out there? Let’s do this like normal people do. The people outside… Hello, I’m Dean Winchester. It’s nice to meet you…?”

A rush of air escapes the man. “Castiel… I’m Castiel Novak.”

“Castiel, huh?” An uncontrolled grin formed on Dean’s face. Progress. “Well, Cas. Think we can act like civilized people and you get off me? You know, so I can breathe?”

“Chosen one…”

“Dean.” His voice was firm, letting the angel know there was no contesting the name.

“...Dean…” Castiel said so hesitantly it was almost a question.

“Yup. That’s me.” Dean said flatly. “Look. I’m bleeding. I’m tired. Now I’m covered in dirt. And I just want to go home, man. Can you please get off of me and let me go? The other angels aren’t as cool as you, Cas. I know it. Hey, you can come with me. Wouldn’t that be good?”

“You can’t leave, Dean. You are so important.”

“That’s just what the Bishop wants you to think. Come on, buddy… I want to go home. I want to see my brother. He’s probably worried sick. He’s probably still looking for me. I mean, I don’t even know where we are or how long I’ve been here. God, he’s probably scared shitless. You got any real family, Cas?”

“I - I…” Castiel’s eyes widened enough that Dean could see it in the dark. A look of horror crossed his features. Moments ticked by, but Dean didn’t interrupt the man’s thought. He saw that important connections were formed. Castiel’s voice was small, shocked, when he continued, “I… My… I forgot them… How could I forget them…? They’re gone now, but I was supposed to remember… They’re why I came… here…” 

It hurt to watch a person crumble, and Dean hated that he’d played a role in it. It was, however, what convinced Castiel to loosen his grip, so there was a small feeling of victory. It only made Dean feel worse.

“Look. I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean said as he pushed himself off the ground. He wobbled and toppled into Castiel. The man kept him on his feet.

“No, Dean. You gave me back something precious. I will always be indebted to you for that.” Castiel said as he tried to right Dean onto his feet, only to discover that the man’s legs no longer worked properly. “You are injured, and you need medical attention. I will get you to Nashville.”

“Nashville?!” Dean spluttered. “We’re in Tennessee?!”

Castiel seemed baffled by his response. “You really didn’t know…”

“I’m serious when I said I was kidnapped, Cas. I wanna get out of here. And the first thing I’m going to do is go to the cops, even though I usually avoid run ins with the cops. This place needs to be shut down and shut down hard.” Dean paused. “You’re seriously coming with me?”

“Yes, Dean… I had forgotten things that I never should have… And that doesn’t feel right… I don’t feel right… Especially… I feel like you broke down a wall that should never have been there. I need time to think…”

Dean shuffled forward. “You’re brilliant, you know that, Cas? You think you can get us over the wall?”

“Yes, Dean. Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be longer and delve into Dean and Cas' relationship more, but I kinda liked where I left it off... If you guys want more, comment and let me know. I might be persuaded to fulfill my original plans.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
